56 The last word
THE WEEK 21 March 2020Mostnights,beforebed,
beforeitallwentwrong,
DominicVanAllenwhiled
awayhiseveningsinapub
calledTheGardenGate.It
waseasytofitin,chatting
anddrinkingwithacrowd
madeupofdog-walkers,
off-workdoctors,oldermen
insuits,andcasuallydressed
professionalswhoowned
expensivehomesnearby.
“Andit’syourichbuggers,”
VanAllenmarvelled,
genially,asheeyedthe
stateoftheirtrainers,
“whocan afford tolook
the scruffiest.”Hewore
durablebootsandaleather
motorcyclejacket, and
couldhavebeen mistaken
forabikecourier,or a
maintenanceguyatthe
hospitalnextdoor.That winterof 2017 ,Van
Allen was44–tall,with
shortblondhair,blueeyes
and afaint Yorkshireaccent.At thepub, hiswasanale. Later,
after he’dsaidhis goodnights,he’d headup atree-linedroadthat
huggedoneside ofHampsteadHeath.Avastopenspaceon the
edgeofmetropolitan London, theheath isuntamedinsomeparts,
managed likeanypublic park inothers.Everyday,thousands
visit.Summerbringssunbathers andpicnickers.Butonthis night,
in December2017,forecasters predicted snow flurries.Hewalked brisklyup theheath’s
westernedge, besideafringe of
scrubwherebramblesrose taller
thanhim.Itwasknownthat
homeless peoplesometimes
pitched tents here afterdark.
VanAllen had done this, too,
onceuponatime. He knew there werealot ofpeoplelikehim,
irregularlyemployed, theownersofphones andpassports, only
with nowhere stabletolive.Hewould never make London rent.
Socialhousingwas out of reach.Amortgagepurest fantasy.Van
Allen hadlearnt, instead, howtoborrowapiece of thisexpensive
city, night by night, onunarrangedloan.When he reached arow
of mansion housesoverlooking theheath,heturnedofftheroad
andon toafootpaththrough thescrub.SomeaspectsofVan Allen’sstory are extraordinary, othersnot
extraordinaryenough. Therehas neverbeen an accuratecount
of peoplelikehim, thevisible-i nvisiblehomeless. Although we
knowthere are55,000-60,000 statutoryhomeless (thosewho
apply to usestateservices),many moreare unaccountedfor.
Charitiesregularlytry to drawattentiontothisproblem of
hiddenhomelessness,aworldofcrowded mattresses, beds-in-
sheds,the backseatsofnightbuses.It’s alegally greyworld–
everythingthatgoes onbetweenafixed address and“the
shopping-trolley stage”.Halfwayalongthe footpath,
Van Allenturnedoff again,
steppingdirectly intodense
bramble. Hefound anarrow
gullyzigzaggingbetweenthe
thornstoasmallclearing,
wherehebentinthedark
and patted theearthyfloor.
There –aconcealedhatch.
Hetuggeditopenand
descendedinto theground,
closingthe hatchbehind.
Below,heflickedonthe
lights and hungup hiscoat.
Inside the bunker,therewas
spacefor twocampbeds.
Van Allencouldstand on
the concretefloorwithout
hisheadscrapingtheroof.
He’d putuphooksand
shelves, and LED lightswere
tapedtothe walls.There
wasaportable stove,and
litterwastiedintobags,to
bespirited awaytoabin.Onthe whole,Van Allen
sleptwell.Beyond the
timber wallswas moreconcrete, tokeepoutgroundwater, and
togetherwiththe Hampstead clay, thismuffled most sounds.
Evenby hisown standards (and VanAllenhadarichhistoryof
guerrillaaccommodation), thebunkerwasoutrageous.Heknew
itseventualdiscoverywasinevitable. Healsoknewthat,as long
as heobservedprecautions,thisoutcome couldbe deferredfor
improbablelengthsof time.So:nogiveawaylitter.Nolingering
nearthehatch. Andno boasting.Instead,VanAllenjoked to
friendsthathe’dbuiltaranch.
Whathe did notsaywasthatit
was 14ftx10ft,andhidden under
one ofLondon’sbusiestparks.VanAllenwas born in1 973 ,up
Wakefield way.By21, he was
dri fting south to London–where heworked inseveral jobs before
finding oneheliked, as stage crew. He put upfencing forU2in
Hyde Park, and helped build the backstage area for Live8.After
abandoningaflatshare, he also took up squatting. Foradecade,
he shiftedbetweensites ,until2011, whenthe squattinglawsgot
stricter. VanAllen’shealthwasbad.He’d broken hisleg while
carrying equipment foraTVbroadcast.Stilloncrutches, he broke
the otherleg –leading doctors to diagnoseabonecondition.The
crew workhad tostop. He spentawhiletrying to make the case
to theauthoritiesthat“he was f***ed”. Hospitals referredhimto
councils, orcouncils referred himtohousing trusts.There were
queues.Forms.Meanstests andmedicalevaluations. Therewere
baddays, when he lost hispatience.Van Allenwasn’tyoungor
old, wasn’t an addict oraparent. He neverquitereachedthe top
of anybody’s list.“I foughtitfor years,” VanAllen wouldsay,
“and thenIsaid to myself:F*** it,I’mgoing camping.”He hadafewthousandinthe bank,andhecouldstilltake on
handymanworkvia his phone–soVan Allenbought agoodtent“My permanent des res” –
life under Hampstead Heath
It’s not just multimillionaires excavating their basements...AfterdecadesspentlivingaspartofLondon’shiddenhomeless,DominicVanAllendughimself
anextraordinarybunkerunderoneofthecapital’sbusiestpublicparks.TomLamontreports“He tugged openahatch and descended
through the earthy floor. Inside the bunker,
there was room for two camp beds”